


walk

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Missing Scene, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>the world wants us to be monsters, bellamy.</i> or the one where lincoln teaches bellamy to say "screw you, i'm not afraid."</p>
            </blockquote>





	walk

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally posted [here](http://finnicks.tumblr.com/post/142096060342/bellamy-surprise-lol-and-k-on-the-edge-of) for a fic meme on tumblr. geckoholic asked for "on the edge of consciousness" and prompted bellamy, and this was born.
> 
> you can consider this an au set in the space between seasons two and three, a scene missing from season three, or a moment from the [what set you free?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5652892/chapters/13019737) universe. it's something i just wanted, so i hope it fits somewhere for you, too.
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. ♥

The Ark is a hollow labyrinth, simple in its design and complex in the way the shadows blanket its sharper edges. Bellamy can see the ghosts of those from Section 17. He sometimes sees the back of his mother, a smaller Octavia, even himself in the familiar hallways he thought he’d never see again.

What Lincoln sees is something else entirely. A beauty Bellamy doesn’t agree with. Can’t open his eyes and see when all he can view are the footprints of those he recalls the faces of. Freckles and slopes of their noses and even the high arch of their cheeks, he remembers each and every one of them.

The doors aren’t the same. Section 17 isn’t the main hub of the Ark, but seeing those numbers printed on the doors is eerily familiar. Some of the sequences are off, missing a number or a marking on the door, but it’s enough to take him back.

Walking side by side with Lincoln, he finds his arm brushes his. Hard. Maybe it hadn’t been on purpose, given how Lincoln slows.

“You’re not a monster because you dream about it.”

Bellamy refuses to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The mountain,” Lincoln says. He slows, taking the next left. Their feet are loud in the quietness of the Ark. The night falls around them, the bulbs flickering in and out like it’s truly a place that’s haunted. “I think about it, too.”

Looking at Lincoln, he studies the slope of his nose. The tattoo on his neck is thick and dark, and Bellamy wonders if it weighs anything at all. Is it like the globe sitting on the shoulders of Atlas, pressing him down with all of his own guilt?

Bellamy’s quiet for a long while, travelling along the length of the long and thin corridor. Harper skips by, nodding her head as she brushes by him. Hearing a door close in the distance, they continue their patrol in silence.

He feels a brush of a hand against the nape of his neck, but knows it’s only a mere memory of Mom.

“I think about them,” he says, quietly. Lincoln doesn’t look at him, and he’s grateful for it. “Those people. My people. I can’t be here sometimes.”

“But you are,” Lincoln says, just as quietly. His gaze is downcast as he focuses on the ground. “You want to make it right.”

“You can’t take back the past.”

“But you can make the future better,” Lincoln says. His hand brushes Bellamy’s wrist, callous fingers soft despite how sharp he’d once been. It’s grounding; he finds he doesn’t want to flinch. “The world wants us to be monsters, Bellamy. Believe it or not, it wasn’t the Grounder way.”

Bellamy remains quiet, looking hard at the wall. Coming to a stop, he can feel Lincoln’s eyes on him. They’re sharp, piercing, and he’s afraid if he looks at him he’ll turn to stone.

“You taught me that. So did your sister.” Lincoln’s hand falls away, and he stands tall, shoulders pulled back, like he’s proud. He waits until Bellamy glances up at him, holding his gaze. 

There’s a power to it that Bellamy finds he feeds off of. Self-belief defeating self-doubt. There are monsters that haunt Lincoln, settling on his shoulders, in the puckered flesh of his own marred skin. But he continues to stand tall, powerful as a god had been to Bellamy in his dreams of escaping.

Lincoln touches his shoulder, fingers curling around the bone hard. It doesn’t hurt Bellamy. He finds it only seems to piece him back together. “I’ll teach you how to walk with them, as long as you walk with me and do the same.”


End file.
